FLORIDA: Ten Days in February on a Motorcycle

FLORIDA: Ten Days in February on a
Motorcycle
I wasn’t planning to join husband as his motorcycle
pillion on a trip to Florida, Savannah and Charleston. I
had been to Florida a million times, plus, the possibility
of torrential downpours, mosquitoes, and some less
that luxurious accommodation wasn’t appealing. But at
Olavo and his motorcycle, ready to go the last minute I changed my mind. I’d never been to St Augustine,
Savannah or Charleston. I wanted to see manatees and cranes. I wanted to see the Keys again, to cross
that bracelet of bridges to Key West. And, I wanted to be in warm, sunny Florida.
By the time we’d made it to Mississippi gulf shores, I was so
cold that despite the sun glaring back from the coast, I warmed
myself beneath the McDonald’s hand dryer in Gulfport for 10
minutes. Gulfport has come up in life since last I saw her.
Sleepy intersections were replaced by multi-lane, bi-leveled
highways—all crisp and proper as an ironed shirt. Fortified, we
rode on to Biloxi and then Ocean Springs, home of the Walter
Anderson Museum. I’ve been painting copies of Anderson
watercolors since 1995, so I know much of his work, but had
never seen his prints and murals. Seeing them, I finally
understood the connections between Anderson and another
On the beach, fleece zipped to my chin
favorite, oil painter and muralist, Candido Portinari. Both focus on
motion and parts fitting into the whole. In Anderson’s work, the
unifying light of the moment makes the parts shimmer with surreal
color. Portinari is so obsessed with parts fitting together that his
images are like a jigsaw puzzle. Thankfully, the museum and town
survived Hurricane Katrina with aplomb. What a great little town,
Ocean Springs -- French vintage, now of painters and potters, and still
dappled by towering live oaks.
The day warmed a bit as the beaches spread out before us … most still
unmarred by expensive houses or towering condos from Gulfport through
Florabama to Pensacola Beach and Santa Rosa Island, but gone were the tiki shacks where you
sauntered up in flip flops for a beer. Pensacola is still a military town, but minus the WWII overtones, at
least along the shore. In some spots the hurricanes have sobered this coast into something more
reliable while in others, like St George Island, development has sullied the shore.
Walter Anderson's Crab
1
By the third day we had rounded the Florida Panhandle to Chiefland and the “real Florida.” We’d seen
tons of nesting birds swarm the just budding trees wrapped in Spanish moss, but not one manatee. The
state park ranger took our money and told us that manatees were wild creatures and that their
movements could not be controlled. Some of time manatees flock to the area for the springs which
remain at a constant 72 degrees and help to keep the waters sparkling. Alas, no manatees at Manatee
Springs State Park. And the divers had not seen any either, but a local Dive Shop suggested we try Fort
Island. Hooray! From the bridge across the sound we saw 7 manatees heading out to sea. The channel
was divided into a section for manatees and one for boats. Traffic was steady on both sides as the sun
set. The Crystal River Best Western was my favorite (as in homey), but not the best, hotel of the trip.
The hotel, like that part of Florida, is down on its heels a bit and hails from a time before Orlando
became the big attraction. What makes the hotel is it’s setting on the bay with a divers’ hangout next
door that serves the best hamburger ever.
Crystal rivers, budding trees hung with moss, nesting birds, no manatees in Manatee State Park
The next day we hit the Homosassa State Park early, bought our tickets and beat the tourists to the park
itself, two miles from the visitor’s center. Manatees, tons of them and sleepy heads, still nestled
together six in a bunk at 9:30 in the morning. The park, a zoo really, has flocks of flamingos, ducks,
egrets and herons.
`
Ellie Schiller Homosassa Springs Wildlife State Park full of manatees, birds and other animals, all almost close enough to touch
The birds were still squabbling over the breakfast buffet. The hippo was wide awake and already
luxuriating in the spa like springs that feed the park. There were bears, panthers, cougars, and foxes in
this small but quickly walk-able preserve. Then lunch in Venice. That afternoon we toured Sanibel and
Captiva Islands which were cluttered with vacation homes and vacationers, sparing on beaches with lots
of cars and nowhere to park. The island traffic kept us pinned down until 7pm. On day five just before
Naples, Florida I just happened to catch the sign for the new Botanic Garden. It’s the #2 attraction for
Naples on Trip Advisor, so I insisted on stopping. While Olavo checked the map, I zipped through the
Brazilian, Asian and Caribbean Gardens skipping the children’s garden, butterflies and Lego exhibits. I
could have stayed for hours, but not with so ambitious an adventure ahead. I was looking forward to
the Everglades.
The old Florida -- still vast and untouched; full of gaters and birds, mangroves and cypress swamps; hot
even in February -- triumphs yet in the Everglades. Here, alligators siesta in roadside canals and along
walking paths, bird babies bawl to be feed while blue and white egrets patiently fish. The savannah
pushes to the horizon and the tropics edge into the boardwalk.
The Big Cypress Preserve and the Everglades NP were formed to protect the South Florida ecosystem.
Its indicator species is the wood stork, the grandest of the wading birds. It looks like a big white and
black flamingo with long legs and long yellow bill. As Florida’s booming population uses more and more
fresh water, the wetlands dry up threatening the wood stork habitat. We saw lots of birds but no storks
even in Flamingos, the remote camp ground at the very south end of the Everglades.
Day six was Route 1 down to Key West and back. The string of bridges leading to Key West is still there
but is so built up in between as to be unrecognizable. Twenty years ago, I remember the Keys as little
spits of sandy islands dotted with palms and strung together with bridges that breached the solid blue of
sky and water. I had driven to Key West in a convertible with a teenage Jennifer at the wheel and
stopped in Marathon to escape a passing downpour. Stopping for gas and an ice cream bar we came
out having made arrangements to snorkel the next day and with recommendations for a little restaurant
on the bay and a cheap but more than adequate hotel for the night. Now a decent hotel in Marathon is
well over $200 a night, (advance reservations required) and the sports fishermen and thatched roof
restaurants seemed to be long gone. Squeezed onto the parkway for Route 1 you’ll find stores, stores
and more, cheaply constructed stores: Home Depot, Walgreens, Publix, Winn-Dixie, Kmart… And while
Key West was crowded and pricey years ago, it was still charming and special, still the very tip of the
continent reaching into the sea. Then, the Hemmingway hangout was a bit scuffed up, but now it’s
downright seedy. Parts of Key West looked hung over from decades of Spring Break and other parts,
repainted, gentrified and newly paved. It was no longer the kind of place where a local would say to me,
“Take off your business suit, lady, and kick back, this is Key West.”
The Lightner Museum (former 1887 Alcazar Hotel) rumored
to have in its collection of Victoriana shrunken heads
No resting on day seven. Instead we made a The 1888 Ponce de Leon Hotel restored as Flagler College
photo op stop in Cape Canaveral at JFK Space
Center, then north up the coast to St Augustine. Now here’s a town that might still hold THE Fountain of
Youth. As you cross the bridge into America’s oldest city you see the 17th century Castillio de San
Marcos and a 16th century Spanish sailing ship replica docked at the harbor plus the cutest miniature
golf right there on the bay. I had my picture taken with Ponce (actually Juan Ponce) at his way hokey
“Ponce de Leon Fountain of Youth Archeological Park.” Even little kids might figure this park to be a bit
contrived but nevertheless fun. We wandered the bastions of the Castillio and on to the downtown
historical district. The centerpieces of downtown are two Gilded Age hotels, built by railroad barons and
restored as the Lightner Museum and Flagler College. The architecture is Spanish Renaissance Revival,
and ambling through the courtyards, you might think you are somewhere in Andalusia, Seville, maybe
Granda? Following King Street (the main drag) we discovered Villa Zorayda, the 1883 winter home of a
Boston billionaire. It is among the first poured concrete structures and is a reproduction of a 12th
century Moorish castle. We missed the last pontoon ride to Fort Matanzas, the 17th century fort built to
fortify Spain’s claim to St Augustine. Too bad because boat and tour are recommended and free,
compliments of the NPS.
On our 8th day out, the weather stopped cooperating. The ferry from Jacksonville to Amelia Island was
cold and windy, but the rain held off until we reached Savannah, GA. Then just 2 miles from the Visitor’s
Lafayette Square
Monterey Square
Forsyth Park
Center we sheltered in a Burger King in an un-renovated part of town. I was very damp, but not that
cold, and as soon as I bought an umbrella, the rain stopped. Savannah surrendered and did not perish
as part of Sherman’s “March to the Sea” in the closing days of the Civil War. And thankfully so, because
Savannah’s urban design of neighborhoods marked by city squares surrounded by antebellum homes
dates to 1737 when Georgia’s first governor, James Oglethorpe, proposed his plan as a utopian city for
freed English prisoners. For me, Savannah defines the Old South better than even Charleston, SC or
Natchez, MS. Monterey Square is the most famous of the 22 squares. Its centerpiece is the statue of
Revolutionary War hero Casmir Pulaski. My favorite was Lafayette Square where the old brass fountain
is harbored in a natural cathedral of live oaks hung in Spanish moss.
Charleston, South Carolina was our final destination and when we reached our harbor-side hotel, we
were both so tired that we slept through dinner. For part of the trip, I had been listening to Sue Monk
Kidd’s The Invention of Wings, the story of Sarah Grimke and her younger sister Angelina who grew up
in Charleston in the first half of the 19th century and who were among the
first Southern women abolitionists and America’s first feminists. Their
real life Charleston home is 321 East Bay Street just 2 blocks from
Charleston College and four blocks from the dock and the Francis Marion
Hotel. The workhouse of the novel where recalcitrant slaves were
tortured may be the old (now reputedly haunted) jail. The time period
Grimke House
for its operation is right, and it’s about a mile from the Grimke’s. Even closer was the old exchange and
provost dungeon which dates to the 18th century. We nixed more literary/historical attractions for a
stroll on giant slate pavers through Charleston College. The college is housed in historic wooden homes,
painted in pastels, iced with iron fretwork, and draped in wisteria and Spanish moss which hangs from
four-story-high live oaks. The college kids were charmingly typical: shod in flip flops and carrying
Starbucks cups or riding fat tire bikes barefoot. Much of the historic district and the waterfront has
been renovated. In Waterfront Park we saw the famous Pineapple Fountain with its sign admonishing
swimming alone but encouraging groups and animals to take a dip, swayed on the porch swings along
the dock and viewed Fort Sumter from across the inlet.
The very last stop of the trip was the Magnolia Plantation and Gardens, advertised by Charles Kuralt as
“My greatest Charleston pleasure,” an accolade he might retract nowadays. The plantations are about
20 minutes from the historical district and managed by the 11th generation of the original owners, the
Draytons. Olavo hiked out to the Audubon Swamp Garden and returned unscathed by either alligators
or mosquitoes. It was a coolish day. When I saw the emerald green swamp, all I could think of yellow
fever and malaria. I opted for the house tour (an extra eight bucks on top of the $15 per person
admission). While I am jaded since visiting the restored mansion and gardens of the first governor of
Mississippi in Natchez and Jefferson’s Monticello, Magnolia is no Gone with the Wind set. The house is
really late 19th century and early 20th with an Audubon print (James Audubon is said to have stayed
there). Its most interesting feature is the local phosphate and shell concrete used to stucco the
structure after a hurricane. The nearby Drayton House (yes, same family run operation) is said to have
survived both the Revolution and Civil Wars, so maybe it is the inspiration for “Terra.” But, we’ll have to
save that for another time. Charleston is worth returning to….
I returned home by plane the very next day, happy that I had changed my mind. Olavo slabbed back for
1,200 miles, home safe and sound 36 hours later.